


After Life

by Elwyne



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyne/pseuds/Elwyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: The Doctor faces the loss of his longtime love.</p>
<p>The sections are named for the five stages of grief, though they don't exactly correspond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Life

**Denial**

  
"It's all right, Doctor," she whispered.  
  
"No," he said, choking. "It isn't all right. It isn't."  
  
She laid gentle fingers on the back of his hand. He leaned down and kissed them, wetting them with his tears.  
  
"I'm sorry, Doctor," she said.  
  
"Oh, Rose," he said, forcing a smile. "So am I."  
  
She smiled, reaching up to touch his face, but her arm fell back weakly to the bed beside her. She closed her eyes as a wave of pain moved through her; he took her hand in his and held it to his heart.  
  
"What do I do?" he murmured, almost too soft to hear.  
  
She opened her eyes and smiled again. "Just keep being you."  
  
"How do I do that without you?"  
  
"Nine hundred years," she said teasingly. "You'll manage."  
  
He pressed her palm to his face and closed his eyes.  
  
When he opened them again, she was gone.  
  
  
For a long moment he held her hand, pressing her cooling fingers to his cheek, kissing her bloodless wrist. Finally he laid it on the bed beside her and stood. Bending, he kissed her forehead, brushed her silver-blonde hair from her face, kissed her still lips.  
  
"What do I do without you?"  
  
The door behind him flew open with a bang and Jack burst into the room. "Am I too late?" he asked breathlessly.  
  
The Doctor nodded, not looking up. "She's gone, Jack. This time she's really gone."  
  
Jack shut the door behind him and slowly approached the bed. He reached out a hand, gently caressing one pale cheek.  
  
"Oh, Rose," he murmured.  
  
"What do I do, Jack?" the Doctor asked, wild-eyed. "What do I do?"  
  
Jack moved around the bed and took his friend by the arm. "First, you get the hell out of here. Come on."  
  
"But Rose..."  
  
"She's not there anymore, Doc," said Jack savagely, pulling him away. "Come on."  
  
"Rose!"  
  
Jack let go; the Doctor fell to his knees on the floor, his head bowed, his hands curled in tight fists. Jack gazed down sadly at his devastated friend. The years had begun to show on the once-immortal Doctor, his hair going to white, his once-agile body stiff and clumsy. Jack laid a hand on his friend's thin shoulder, and the Doctor seized it desperately.  
  
"I can't do it, Jack. I can't make it in this life without her."  
  
"I know. Come on." Jack helped him to his feet and led him stumbling out of the room.  
  
  
They sat at a darkened booth in a quiet corner of their favorite pub, an array of empty glasses beside them on the table. The Doctor stared into his untouched drink. Jack emptied one more and set it aside, his hand shaking. "'Nother round?" he mumbled.  
  
"I think you've had enough," said a sharp voice at his elbow. He whipped his head around, then gripped the table unsteadily as his vision swam. Finally the image before him resolved itself: a youthful blonde woman glaring down at him, brown eyes blazing. Jack blinked and looked again.  
  
"I thought I might find you here," she went on. "I'm taking Uncle John home with me. You can come too if you like."  
  
Jack stared at the woman, his pickled brain temporarily displaced in time. "Jax," he said after a long moment. "Baby Tony's baby girl."  
  
The woman tapped the toe of one boot impatiently. "Come on. I'll need your help to get him to the car."  
  
Jack looked back at his friend; the Doctor didn't seem to have noticed the interruption. "Well, old buddy? We'd better do as she says."  
  
The Doctor nodded, his mind elsewhere, and allowed Jack to help him to his feet.  
  
  
"You look just like her, you know."  
  
Jacqueline Rose Tyler took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at her passenger. His dark eyes were huge and mournful, his thin face streaked with dried tears; she felt a tugging at her heart. She turned her attention back to driving.  
  
"So everyone says. Wish I'd known her better."  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
She shrugged. "'S all right."  
  
He fell silent again; she gave him an anxious look. The uncle she called John, though she knew it wasn't his name, was known for his mercurial disposition and manic tendencies. Always before, her aunt Rose had been there to stabilize him, bring him down to earth. Now that Rose was gone, he would bear watching. Jax knew the stories, knew how long he had lived and how much he had seen; she could sense the darkness in him, lurking under the surface.  
  
"Tell me about her?" she ventured.  
  
For a long moment he didn't answer. The only sound above the car's engine was a heavy snoring from the back seat. "You know the stories," he said finally.  
  
"Well, yeah. Everyone knows the stories. Everyone says how like her I am. But you and she were always off somewhere, chasing down some alien, some mystery or other. And I was always in school, and then at Torchwood, where I work all hours and barely see my own mum. I'd like to know something that's not in the stories."  
  
Another quiet moment passed. Then her uncle shook his head and buried his face in his hands. "I can't, Jaxie. I'm sorry."  
  
"'S all right," she murmured, laying a comforting hand on his knee.  
  
  
Leaving Jack to sleep it off in the car, Jax helped her uncle into the house and settled him on the sofa. "You just sit there and rest," she said. "I'll fix you a nice hot cuppa." She hurried into the kitchen, embarrassed at how like her grandmother she sounded, and took her time making the tea. Normally a confident person, Jax found it difficult to deal with intense emotion; always at home in the classroom or the lab, perfectly at ease telling her superiors at Torchwood where to get off, she felt lost in the face of her uncle's grief, a helpless child again.  
  
Hot tea in hand, she returned to the sitting room to find him asleep on the sofa. He lay peacefully, the lines of exhaustion and pain in his face faded, the tension eased from his thin body. Jax pulled a quilt from the back of an armchair, tucked it closely around him and tiptoed out of the room.

 

**Anger**

 

He opened his eyes into utter darkness, but immediately knew where he was. He'd spent a lot of nights on that sofa lately, being as it was so much closer to the hospital than their own home was. He sat up, pulling the quilt around him, and rested his chin in his hands.  
  
His gut ached, his insides empty and hollow. His eyes filled with tears. What was he to do? He couldn't stay on this sofa forever in the dark. He couldn't stay in this house with the girl who looked so much like Rose. Or worse, who reminded him so powerfully of Jackie, the grandmother she was named for. He couldn't - but how could he go home? How could he live alone in that empty flat, with reminders of her in every corner? Pain stabbed through his belly at the thought, and he doubled over in agony.  
  
"Uncle John?" Suddenly Jax was beside him, her arm around his shoulders. "You cried out. Are you all right?"  
  
"Rose," he wailed, unable to help himself. She hugged him harder. His grief broke through and he sobbed, weeping helplessly into his hands, as she rocked him gently in the dark.  
  
She held him long after his tears had spent themselves. "I'm so old, little Jax," he murmured. "I never once imagined that she'd be the one leaving me behind."  
  
"She did everything she could, you know," said Jax. "She'd never have left you if she could have prevented it."  
  
"And how do you know that?" he said, failing at light humor.  
  
"Famous for it in our family. Stubbornness and loyalty. That's what everyone says; they say I got those things from her. And I'd never do it, I'd never leave Sam behind if I had a chance to stop it. So I know she'd have never left you."  
  
He chuckled softly. "Thank you, Jax. You're very kind."  
  
"I'm not," she retorted. "I'm a nasty bird, ask anyone. But I always tell the truth."  
  
"Well, then thank you for that."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"What do I do now?" he whispered, the emptiness inside him growing again.  
  
The girl beside him had no answer; instead, she laid her head on his shoulder and hugged him as he cried.  
  
  
He next awoke in brilliant daylight. Someone bustled noisily in the kitchen, and the rich smells of baking filled the house. He rubbed his face and sat up.  
  
"Morning," said a cheery voice. "Tea or coffee?"  
  
He looked up blearily into a broad and smiling face. Jax's partner Sam worked as a pastry chef, and it showed; every inch of her was soft and round and dimpled, and her personality was as warm and pleasant as fresh-baked bread. Her snow-white apron and chef's cap contrasted with her chocolate skin and emphasized her shining smile.  
  
"Coffee, thanks," the Doctor murmured, trying and failing to return the smile.  
  
"Won't be a mo'." She vanished into the kitchen, returning an instant later with a steaming cup and a hot buttery croissant. "You're looking a little peaky. That should go down nice, fresh from the oven." She set the plate and cup on a table beside him and disappeared again.  
  
The Doctor picked up his coffee and sat back on the sofa, letting the bitter aroma slowly rouse him. His gut still felt hollow, and the idea of putting food in it made him queasy; he ignored the croissant and sipped carefully at the hot coffee, fighting off the painful thoughts that tugged at his mind. Finally he gave up; straightening his crumpled clothes as best he could, he went into the kitchen to find Sam.  
  
"I'll be going now, if you'll just let Jax know. And thanks to both of you."  
  
Sam looked up from her sinkful of breakfast dishes. "We have everything you need if you'd like to stay. Jaxie went to your place yesterday and packed a bag." She dried her hands on her apron. "You're more than welcome, really. We're happy to have you."  
  
"Thank you," he said, smiling as best he could. "I may take you up on that later. For now I'd really like to go home." He glanced over his shoulder. "Do you happen to know what became of Jack?"  
  
Sam grinned with toothy delight. "The Captain? Oh yes, Jaxie took him with her this morning. Can you believe, she let him sleep in the car? I told her I'd be happy to share, but somehow she wasn't interested."  
  
The Doctor chuckled faintly. "Long as he's all right then. Look, I'll be off. Tell Jax - well, I expect I'll see her before long. Bye now." He turned and strode away before she could respond.

 

**Bargaining**  


 

He stood in the doorway of the flat, the home they had shared so many years. It looked the same; untidy, full of books and electronics and clothes scattered every which way. It felt wrong. Empty, cold and hollow like his insides. He shuddered and closed the door behind him.  
  
At a loss, he stood in the middle of the room. He picked up some books from the sofa; not sure what to do with them, he put them back. He picked up a hooded sweater from the floor. It gave off a waft of her scent, and pain stabbed through him. He hugged the garment to his chest, so tight he felt his arms would break, but he couldn't let go. He tried to breathe, to fill his lungs, but the smell of her surrounded him, and he collapsed helplessly to his knees.  
  
When the wave of grief had passed he struggled to his feet, still clutching her sweater, and made his way down the hall to the bathroom. Setting the sweater carefully on the counter, he turned on the shower as hot as he could stand. He scrubbed his skin till it burned, trying in vain to wash away the bitterness and misery. Unappeased he turned off the water, pulled on his ratty dressing gown, and crossed the hall to the bedroom.  
  
He stood in the doorway and stared at the bed.  
  
It seemed a lifetime ago, or only yesterday, that she had last shared it with him. Closing his eyes he could hear her laughter, her sighs, her gentle breathing as she slept so unselfconsciously beside him. He imagined he could feel her there, reaching out to take his hand and draw him in. He felt his body respond to her imagined warmth. His eyes flew open to find the room cold and empty, the pillows undisturbed for weeks, the air musty with disuse. Shivering he moved to the bed and climbed under the blankets. Once more her scent overwhelmed him; he pulled her pillow to his face and burst into tears.  
  
  
"Uncle John, wake up."  
  
"Go away."  
  
"No. Wake up."  
  
He peeled open one crusty eye and glared at his niece. She stood beside the bed, one hand on her hip and the other holding a steaming mug. "Sam made soup," she said.  
  
"Not hungry."  
  
"You still have to eat. Come on, now." She set the mug on the bedside table and tried to help him sit up. He clung stubbornly to Rose's pillow and refused to move. "Don't make me get Jack," she said.  
  
He gave up, let her pull him upright and pile the pillows behind him, let her feed him hot soup he couldn't taste. Finally satisfied, she set the mug aside and sat next to him on the bed.  
  
"Are you coming back to the house?"  
  
He shrugged. She waited silently. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and sighed.  
  
"What do you want from me, Jax?"  
  
"I want you to not follow your wife into an early grave." He snorted. "Don't be like that," she said. "You saw what happened to Grandad when Gran passed. You're still a lot younger than he was."  
  
"I'm not, either."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't you think we've lost enough lately? Gran and Grandad, and then Dad last year, and now Auntie Rose. Don't make me bury you too."  
  
He hung his head, chastised. "I'm sorry, Jax."  
  
"'S all right," she said. "I don't expect you to not be sad and miss her. I just need you to let us take care of you while you do."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Good. Now that's settled." She stood and picked up the mug from the bedside table. "I packed you a few things, but see if there's anything else you want to have at hand. There's a suitcase on the floor by your bureau. I'm going to clean out the kitchen, and soon as you're dressed and ready I'll take you home. Sam found a futon for the office; thought you'd be okay sharing with the books and the central computer."  
  
He smiled wanly. "Thank you, Jax."  
  
She shrugged. "We're family. 'S what we do."

 

**Depression**

 

The weather was fine, the spring sun shining warmly. A sweet-scented breeze blew through the first green buds on the trees and set them to waving. A crowd gathered around a gaping dark hole cut into the bright grass, a heap of fresh black dirt waiting nearby.  
  
The Doctor stared unseeing at the ground. A voice droned on, speaking words he couldn't hear; the humming of bees in the tree above him meant as much. At long last the voice faded, to be replaced by the clatter of dirt falling by the shovelful into the gaping hole. The thud of earth on wood hit him like a punch in the gut; he cringed and gasped for breath. Beside him Jax squeezed his arm and moved away. He stood alone, blind and sickened, till the pounding of his heart urged him to wakefulness.  
  
The new grave lay open before him. Stocky black-clad men shoveled away the heap of soil, the black dirt contrasting harshly with the spring grass. He took a step forward and peered into the filling hole. Only a corner of the white coffin remained visible; as he watched, it too vanished beneath the ground.  
  
  
Jax's neat townhouse was filled with people. They milled about, offering food and drink, clapping him on the shoulder, touching his hands. Their faces blurred together, a mass of humanity dressed in black. Jax and Sam flanked the Doctor, accepting condolences for him, thanking the stream of guests for their kind words. Eventually the crowd thinned; the Doctor found himself standing alone in an empty room.  
  
"How about that drink, old friend?"  
  
He looked over his shoulder. Jack stood there, hands in pockets, as if he hadn't moved in years. The Doctor nodded once; Jack took his arm and led him away.  
  
  
They sat in the darkened booth in the darkened corner of the dark pub. The day's sunlight had faded to misty pink twilight, and inside was already night. The two men stared into their drinks, each wordlessly lost in thought.  
  
"Now what, Jack?"  
  
"One day at a time, I guess." He took a swallow of his drink. "That Jax is something else."  
  
The Doctor nodded. "She's a whip, that one. Sometimes I wonder if somehow she really is related to me."  
  
Jack chuckled. "Beauty and brains, hm?"  
  
"She's been reverse engineering things from the archive. Came up with more than a few pieces of tech that won't be passed on, if you take my meaning."  
  
"The sort of thing governments can't be trusted with."  
  
"Exactly." The Doctor sipped his drink. "What about you? How's California?"  
  
"Different. The whole Torchwood-CIA thing is more or less coming together. I met a nice little blonde named Esther. Very sweet, and quite hung up on me, but I think she's a little young."  
  
"We're all too young for you, Jack."  
  
He grinned. "Could be. Anyway, we'll see. So far it's just a working relationship."  
  
"But it is a working relationship."  
  
"Hey, even I can get along with people when I want to."  
  
The Doctor chuckled, then his smile vanished abruptly as his stomach turned over. "Oh gods, Jack," he murmured. "How can I laugh? How can I go on like nothing happened?"  
  
"Hey," Jack leaned over the table. "You're only human. Life goes on." He picked up his drink and finished it in one swallow. "Even when you don't want it to."  
  
The Doctor pushed his drink aside and cradled his head in his hands. "Impossible."  
  
"She'd have done it for you."  
  
The Doctor glared at his friend, then laughed humorlessly. "You know, you're absolutely right. If I'd gone first it'd be her going through this right now. Without me."  
  
Jack nodded. "And what would you tell her?"  
  
"Same thing I told her all those years ago. Live your life. Be fantastic."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Oh, Jack. I don't even know what that means anymore."

 

**Acceptance**

 

A simple stone marked the heap of dirt with its sprinkling of new spring grass. Rose Marion Tyler, much loved daughter, wife and friend. He twisted his fingers awkwardly.  
  
"This so isn't me," he said with a grim laugh. "Not that I never talk to myself. It's just so odd to talk to you as if I were talking to you, as if you were here."  
  
His throat closed and he stopped, his fingers knotted together. Slowly he took a deep breath, swallowed the hard lump, closed his eyes; when he opened them he could speak again.  
  
"I know I did it before. Lived without you. I'd just got so used to you. It seemed like we'd have forever. That we'd had forever, and we'd just keep on going."  
  
The yellow-green blades poking up from the earth waved in the gentle wind.  
  
"Gods I miss you, Rose," he sighed. "I wish I were that Time Lord. He always could just get on with it, leave it all behind and start again. Never look back. I wonder what he's doing now. Saving the Universe, I expect."  
  
Only the breeze responded, rustling the grass, ruffling his hair.  
  
"On the other hand, he had to tell you goodbye years ago. So many years, Rose. He never had the time I got. He never got to wake up every day beside you, never got to kiss you Christmas morning, never... I suppose I must be grateful for that."  
  
He smiled, his first honest smile in days. It felt strange.  
  
"Maybe I know a little, now, what Sarah Jane felt. Maybe what you felt, a little, that day on the beach. I'm so glad now, Rose, that I never left you behind. That I came with you, that I stayed with you, even when it was hard, even when we both wished for that other life. I'm so very glad, Rose, that I never left you." He wiped his eyes. "Now if only I could let you go."  
  
He knelt in the grass beside the new grave, his cheeks wet, and ran his fingers through the soft young blades. "No," he said softly. "No, I'll never let you go. I'll keep you here with me. I know what you went through, before, to get back to me. I know you'd never leave me. You're right here with me, always." He smiled again, through heavy tears. "Dear sweet Rose. Always with me. Forever."  
  
  
Jack slouched in a hard chair in the airport lounge, waiting for the Los Angeles flight to board. He flicked through urgent Torchwood messages on his phone, selectively ignoring them, when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see his old friend standing there, wearing a crooked smile, a long brown coat, and a duffel bag over one shoulder.  
  
"Going my way?" the Doctor asked.  
  
Jack sat up. "Looks like. Up for a change of scenery?"  
  
"Just what the Doctor ordered," the Doctor answered, sitting down beside him. "I had to close up the flat, put everything in storage to deal with later. When I'm more myself."  
  
"Makes sense."  
  
"So tell me, Jack. Tell me about Torchwood California."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 8/30/2012 on whofic.com. 
> 
> Jack Harkness is an AU, non-canon version of the character, first appearing here: http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=43157


End file.
